Après Mort, le Deluge
by Tindomiel
Summary: Life is hard. Death is harder. Sirius Black’s journey through the veil takes him to a curious state of mortality and a very unexpected destination... Ankh Morpork is about to meet a new kind of wizard. Discworld/Harry Potter crossover.
1. Beyond the Veil

_A/N: My first Harry Potter/Discworld fic. Hah, two birds, one stone. It's probably been done, but the plotbunny bit and I couldn't ignore it any longer: this is the result. Originally, I wanted to write a hogswatch piece to fit the season… well, here's what you get after re-reading Half-Blood prince and Soul Music simultaneously. Can't wait 'til Deathly Hallows though. In the meantime, enjoy._

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Chapter 1: Beyond the Veil

For Sirius Black, the world turned a pale shade of grey.

There was a streak of red that passed across his eyes. Flash: a bolt of numb weight hitting him in the chest. He was faintly aware in the distance of an anguished cry that he recognised as his Godson's – it tugged at his heart, but his limbs were so weary…

And he fell.

Through the veil: the strange fabric felt like a breeze across his face, but all around him, through him, there was pain, racking pain; he let go of his wand; and, as his vision turned dark, he knew this was the end. At least, was the thought somewhere in his mind, it will be a quick end.

And with a dull thud, he hit the soft ground.

THIS IS MOST UNUSUAL.

A voice. Ah… it had come. He would come to the afterlife. He would know peace – he would see James and Lily again! If he could hear, it must mean he was now a ghost, a spirit – no one could survive the Killing curse, and Harry's escape had been through the sacrifice of his mother – _dear Lily_.

His eyes flew open, and he nearly cried out aloud at the sight.

AH. GOOD. FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GONER.

He scrambled up "You're the Grim Reaper!" he cried, recognising the macabre, almost caricature-like figure from the storybooks and the legends, mostly the muggle legends. Yet here it was, more solid and more real than anything around him.

I HAVE SO MANY NAMES, The figure said.

"I… never really, believed in such a thing… silly superstitions…" he tried to catch his breath. So he must be a spirit now, dead, utterly dead. For a spirit though, his heart was still pounding very quickly.

"I suppose this is the end… doesn't matter what form it comes in…"

Sirius peered at the figure above him. Deep grey eyes met inscrutable blue eye sockets. He picked up his wand and held it tightly – it had come through the worlds with him, but he doubted its effect against such a being. He straightened.

"Come. Come then. I did my best. I did it for Harry." He closed his eyes, "Come take me."

AND THEREIN, spoke Death, with an almost imperceptible sigh, LIES THE PROBLEM.

He reached into his midnight robes, and brought out an hourglass.

Sirius stared at it, the trickling sands that were coming to a still, and tried to keep his voice composed as understanding dawned, "So that is my life." he said tonelessly, "Oh - Merlin's beard, I never imagined anything like _this_." He wiped away the sweat from his brow, "I suppose that when the sand runs out… that is when you come, and I... go."

A VERY ASTUTE OBSERVATION, said the spectre, BUT FOR ONE POINT. THIS IS NOT YOUR HOURGLASS. THIS IS NOT _YOUR_ LIFE.

The name on the glass bulb read _Barnabas the Foul-Mouthed_.

"So…?"

Death pointed. Sirius turned around, and began to realise he was no longer at the ministry, or indoors at all. He was in a town, a town street by the looks of it; the buildings were almost medieval in style, and the _smell_, oh the _smell_…

He turned, just in time to see a man wearing furs and a horned helmet crossing the road, and behind him: a cart, broken from its tethers, coming down the sloped road -accelerating – the man had not noticed, drunkenly swaying from side to side as he was – and the cart ran faster, grinding over the cobbles – and Sirius raised his arm and his wand but he knew he would not be in time --

Bang. He blinked.

From behind him, the cloaked Reaper glided towards the flattened barbarian. Sirius watched, open-mouthed, as he watched the man rise from his body – his spirit, his soul – and speak.

"Bloody hell, what the F--- happened?"

YOU WERE RUN OVER BY A CART.

The barbarian nodded sagely, "At least I wore clean underwear."

Sirius gaped. As if in a trance, he watched the scene from afar. He was aware of Death raising the scythe: the downward slash of light: the spirit of the dead man faded away like mist, and around him, the world exhaled again.

He looked up again, into the flickering depths of the eye sockets. There was no malice in them, nothing that could be called emotion, and yet…

Bony fingers landed gently on his shoulder. Then they did it again.

THERE, THERE.

A thought was beginning to dawn on Sirius, a twisted thought.

"Where am I?" he said hoarsely.

THIS IS THE DISCWORLD, OF COURSE. OR, MORE SPECIFICALLY, THE GLORIOUS CITY OF ANKH MORPORK. OR, MORE SPECIFICALLY, A CERTAIN STREET OUTSIDE A WELL-KNOWN TAVERN NAMED 'THE MENDED DRUM'.

On cue, one of the tavern windows was smashed and a tavern patron promptly thrown through it. Sirius watched blankly. Even in the muggle world, he had rarely seen such behaviour, so crude and… preposterous.

He turned back to the skeletal, expressionless face.

"I am not dead." He said.

WELL OBSERVED, AGAIN.

"But I should be!" he cried, his finger stabbing the air, the other hand feeling his chest, and the living heartbeat that was there, "I was hit! The Avada Kedavra curse itself! By Bellatrix…" he spat out the name with venom, "and then… I fell… I remember the veil… I came through the veil." Sirius ran his fingers through his hair, staring dispassionately at the floor, "How did I get here?"

The hooded figure merely looked at him.

THE FIRST TIME I EVER MET YOU WAS WHEN YOU RATHER SUDDENLY ERUPTED FROM THE FOLDS OF MY ROBE.

His face was a skull, but Sirius could detect a slightly sardonic lilt to the tone. The voice arrived directly to his brain without stopping at his ears.

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT THIS VEIL IS THAT YOU SPEAK OF. BUT IT MUST HAVE BEEN POWERFUL MAGIC. THE RESULT APPEARS TO BE THAT YOU CAME OUT THE OTHER END, OF ALL PLACES, THROUGH MY APPAREL. YOU SAY THAT YOU DIED: YOU ARE NOT INCORRECT. IT SEEMS YOU HAVE PASSED THROUGH DEATH HIMSELF AND OUT THE OTHER SIDE.

He seemed to consider the irony for a moment.

HA HA. There was a humourless pause. He continued:

YOU ARE NOT DEAD HERE BECAUSE YOU WERE NOT BORN ON THE DISC. I HAVE NO HOURGLASS FOR YOU. YOU ARE THEREFORE NOT MORTAL. BUT NEITHER ARE YOU GOD, DEITY, OR ANY KIND OF ENTITY… YOUR EXISTENCE IN THIS WORLD APPEARS TO BE PURELY CIRCUMSTANTIAL.

"Ah." Sirius said simply.

YOU DO NOT SEEM TO BE A MONSTER FROM THE SUB-DIMENSIONS, NOR DO YOU APPEAR LIKE A PAWN OF THE AUDITOR'S GAMES... I CANNOT UNDERSTAND HOW, BUT IT MUST HAVE BEEN MAGIC OF YOUR WORLD TO CAUSE THIS. WHERE IS YOUR DOMAIN?

"How should I know?!"

WHAT ABOUT ITS NAME?

"I was in the Ministry of Magic! There was something there that I fell through – I was killed and then I came here. A land called England! Earth!"

I HAVE NOT HEARD OF THIS PLACE. THERE IS NO LAND OF THIS NAME ON THIS DISC.

Realisation sunk in. Sirius staggered. So here he was, on some god-forsaken place called the Disc, meeting the hallucination of all hallucinations, the spectre of Death himself. He tried to recall passing though the veil, but it was difficult. He remembered the Before quite clearly – the pain, Bellatrix's gleeful wail as she hit him, and the sound of Harry's cry – _oh God Harry, where are you?_ – and here he was, standing in the After. Inbetween… he frowned. There was only a faint impression of fabric.

HERE YOU MUST REMAIN, the embodiment of Death spoke.

"No! I need to get back." He cried, urgently, "He's in danger. I need to get back to Harry!"

BUT... IN THAT OTHER WORLD YOU WOULD NOW BE DEAD.

"It doesn't matter! I need to make sure he's okay! I - I just want to get back to him."

Death hesitated, then came to a decision. He raised his arms slightly, making the dark cloak billow around him.

I DOUBT IT WILL WORK, BUT I CANNOT STOP YOU FROM TRYING.

The black material of the robes rippled lightly. If that was the way he came, well…

Sirius braced himself, and ran. He bent slightly, preparing to dive into the rippling fabric, and then –

A loud crunch, as head met fleshless bone ribcage.

OOF. THAT WAS QUITE A BLOW

Was the last thing he heard. Pain seared through his skull, not as painful as the feeling of despairing defeat that came over him, and he let out a small groan for both hurts before passing into the grey mist that was unconsciousness.

_to be continued..._


	2. In which our Stranger aids the Law

Thanks for the reviews!

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Chapter 2: In which our Stranger aids the Law

There was light. There was noise, and voices whispering. And there was that continuous, throbbing, bloody great pain in his head.

Moaning faintly, Sirius opened his eyes, and noticed that the whispering had instantly ceased.

Reflexes still sharp, he was on his feet within seconds, and the two scruffy looking men that were excavating the contents of his robes were suddenly confronted with what had been their victim (but probably wasn't intent on remaining it for much longer). This was a very tall, very agile, very _angry_ man. One of the thieves who had previously been inspecting Sirius' wand chose that moment to look up: into a glare that seemed to comprise mostly of teeth. He dropped it instantly. Did the man just _growl_?

They ran.

"Bugger." Sirius said, stoically. So much for waking up back on earth.

He picked up his wand from the dirt, and tried to rub some feeling back into his head. There would be a hideous bruise there soon, nothing worse than what he'd suffered before. In his teens, Lupin would be the one with the healing spells. Anything that they preferred Madam Pomfrey not to see, he would deal with expertly. Sirius sighed, and pushed away those thoughts. His priorities now were to find out exactly what this place was, and exactly how to get back to the veil, to the other side.

Morning. The sun had risen. The barbarian was still lying in the road, but now covered neatly with a sheet, his valuables and weapons scrupulously missing. Sirius bent down towards the shrouded body, and wondered how to react. A man had just died, and he had watched the soul itself disappear into the realm that he could not go. The Grim Reaper, or Death, whatever his name was, was gone. He swore.

If the fabric of the veil was connected to the cloak of Death himself, then Sirius' only hope of returning to his world, back to the ministry, would be to find the man, er, the _personification_ of Death, hims-- itself. Yes, the first attempt to launch himself through backfired –literally. But Sirius could think of no other way out. He didn't dare try to apparate. If there really were parallel worlds, the dangers of crossing between them did not bear thinking about. And in a world where the Grim Reaper existed, how safe was his magic? If this world was anything like the muggle world back home, he would need to be very careful.

No. Finding death was the only way he could see. But how could one go looking for Death with a capital D? Surely, you just _died_? Everything about this place was insane. His first thought had been that maybe _this_ was the afterlife: heaven, paradise, nirvana, whatever. Then it had been that, perhaps, this was his imagination. He had heard of muggles going into 'comas', a deep trapped sleep inside your own mind, and he thought that perhaps he was in the same state.

But if that was true, then surely someone –Harry, Hermione, Lupin, or even Dumbledore – would have drawn him out of it by now? Sooner or later, they would undo the spell or poison or whatever it was…

Yes, the flaw in that theory was it was no stupefying spell that had hit him, but the Killing curse itself. And what was it the Death-person had said? He was _no longer mortal_? What did that mean? He was alive here, but he didn't know what that entailed either. Alone, trapped… the people of this city were giving him shifty glances – his garb was strange compared to the fashions of this city, but largely he was being ignored. The dead body drew attention in the crowds, but the people seemed to view it in the same way as if it were a writing desk; misplaced, but not extraordinary.

Come to think of it, last night, did anyone even _notice_ the seven-foot skeleton he was talking to? He could see the soul, or spirit of the dead man that was… taken by Death, but it didn't seem that anyone else could. Death himself seemed corporeal enough, and it just didn't seem feasible that the people of this place were just _ignoring_ him.

What was the name of the city? Ankh… something about ham, pork?

A tap on the shoulder woke him from his reverie. He turned around to empty air. Then he looked down, to where a small armoured… _man_, in the loosest sense of the word, was looking up at him. He was dressed like a soldier, or some kind of law enforcement. Near him, other similarly uniformed men (and women) were clearing away the unlucky body.

"Er… sorry?" he said, caught off guard.

"Name's corporal Nobby Nobbs," the man said, yawning, "I am inspecting the scene of the accident, and since you were a witness, I need your name." he was scribbling something inside a notebook.

"Black. Sirius Black." he had no qualms about giving his real name here.

"And you saw what happened here?"

"I don't know who he was… Barnabas something or other…" Sirius waved his arm abstractly in the direction of the road, "There was a runaway cart, probably broken loose, it ran him down as he was crossing the road." he indicated towards the covered body, currently being inexpertly loaded into the empty offending cart.

"Right. Thank you Mr. Black." The small man said, "Please, if you would let me know your occupation and your current address…?"

Sirius stared blankly at him.

"I… I am not from… here. I don't have a job or house."

The little man tittered.

"New arrival, eh? 'S plenty of boarding houses round here. Mrs. Cake is just round the corner, actually. Respectable man like you…" the watchman gave him a look, and Sirius became aware of his somewhat dishevelled appearance, having been running on pure adrenaline along for the past however-many-hours and probably not smelling very fresh. He had not eaten in a day, not since he found out where Harry had gone.

Still, most who knew him agreed that he looked better than he had done in years, good food, rest, and relative peace making him flesh out at a healthy rate, though his years in Azkaban and his long spell as a fugitive had left their marks upon his lined face. Unlike Lupin, however, he didn't have a single grey hair. He didn't even remember getting an opportunity to tease Remus about it.

"Look," Sirius decided to speak plainly, "I'm not from here, and the fact is, I'm stuck, stuck, with no idea what this place and no idea how to get back. I have no valuables, my pockets were emptied when I was absent, _nothing_, save the clothes on my back and no clue to why the hell this is called the _Discworld_??!"

Nobby's eyebrows came back down eventually.

"Well that not a good attitude for someone who ain't got no money. People can disappear very quickly in this town, y'know." he said, "Man needs skills to survive round here, anyone with quick hands can mebbe make a bit o' money on the side." He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Sirius stared, his mind bewilderingly empty of anything to reply to this… person.

"…Skills?" he managed.

"Yeah, got any talents? Can you sing? Dance? Erm… kill people real quietly?" Nobby surveyed the stranger with a little disapproval, "S'pose you could come back to Pseudopolis yard. The only ac-co-mo-day-shun I can offer you's the Watch House beds in the clink, I'm afraid. I can leave the door open." He added brightly.

The tall stranger gave him a dark, withering look.

"I will _never_ sleep behind bars."

The tone almost made Nobby back down, but nothing could ever put off Corporal Nobby Nobbs.

"Werrrl, that's the best I can offer, mate, if you've got a better idea, go off and use it, and stop bothering me, by all means."

The man was silent for several moments. Then he sighed, and said:

"I am a wizard, Nobby."

Pause.

"You're a what?"

"A wizard."

To Sirius' bafflement, Nobby snorted.

"You don't look it to me."

"I assure you am. In my world I was considered quite adept at the magical arts. Crap at exams, but, well…"

"Where're your sequins then?"

"Er, what?"

"Wizards' got to have sequins. Unspoken rule, really. Wizards' gotta have a cloak, n' robes, an' a hat, with stars and sequins and magical runes, yeah? You're wearing…" he sniffed, scrutinising Sirius' garb, "Some kind of brown felt coat with camel buttons and black piping round the collar."

"It is a robe." Said Sirius persuasively.

"Not very magical, is it? Dressing gown, more like, bit scruffy, at that."

"Does a man's garb determine his power?"

"How else can you tell that he's a wizard?"

Sirius was silent.

" 'Sides," Nobby continued cheerily, "Wizard's got to have a staff. Where's yours? You know what they say about a wizard's staff, eh heh heh…?"

"Um. No."

Nobby gave up.

"Look. I gotta go back and write up a report on this whole—"

He was interrupted by a blasphemous cry. The 'wizard' was looking upwards and swearing a string of curses under his breath. Nobby followed his gaze.

"Oh, that. That's the Tower of Art, that is."

"How many stabilising spells must it take…?" Sirius remembered what Harry had told him once, writing about his awe the first time he was at the Weasley's Burrow. He felt the same on twice the scale.

"Er, couldn't say. Belongs to the University. No idea what they get up to in there. Well, as long as the world ain't blown up and I have, um, five fingers… never messed with magic myself. Bloody wizards never seem to live long."

Sirius' gaze finally pulled itself back to earth.

"Sorry… you have a university for Wizards?" He was reluctantly impressed. Even back home, there was very little higher education beyond NEWTs and fewer willing to take them, "So there are full-fledged wizards in this city!"

"Course there are! And they have the decency to dress like it!"

"Take me there." said Sirius.

"Your funeral." said Nobby.

Sirius ignored him. If there was a way back, he had to find it.

"Take... me there." He said, his voice becoming a low growl.

"Alright, I'll walk you there!" Nobby grumbled, shoving away his pen and pad, and started down one of the indistinguishable cobbled streets. Sirius jogged after him.

" 'S just past Sator Square, keep up, you can't miss it. Come along…" the watchman sighed, as the stranger followed behind him silently, "Dunno how they'll react to the likes of you, not even having a _hat_…"

Against his better judgement, Sirius quietly removed his wand from his pocket and waved it, from under his sleeve, in the direction of Nobby's head.

"…still they might let you have dinner if you – eh, say what?" the watchman turned. Sirius kept a straight face.

"Oh me? Nothing." The wand slipped back into its pocket unnoticed.

"Rigght." Nobby narrowed his eyes, "Sure I heard something. Anyway." He stopped and pointed across a large square, "See that door there? Front entrance. What ever you want, or wanna see them about, 's through there. Good luck." And with an untidy salute, and a barely concealed snigger, he was gone.

Sirius took a breath, for anxiety or weariness or both, then walked towards the huge oaken door, and knocked three times.

* * *

" 'Ere, Nobby, what's happened?" 

"Oh, not much Sarge. Some barbarian got knocked down by a cart. I did the rounds, got the details…"

"Nah, didn't mean that. I meant your _face_!"

Nobby looked up at his friend suspiciously, "That's a bit cruel sarge. Can't help what I am. It's the way I was made, innit?"

Colon looked flabbergasted, "Have you looked at yerself in a mirror lately?"

"Nah… can't afford paying for damages after."

Sergeant Colon rummaged in his office desk furiously. He was red in the face and looked like he'd seen a ghost. Finally, to Nobby's bemusement, he produced a small chipped hand-mirror and nodded at him emphatically. Nobby took it from him cautiously.

"Look." Colon said, "Just look."

"If you say so, sarge."

And, eyes closed, he raised the mirror to the vicinity of his face, to one side, just in case there were splinters or shards. Then he opened one eye. Then he opened both. Then he turned his head. Then his mouth fell open.

"Flippin' eck, I'm _gorgeous_!!"


	3. A Wizard's Staff

_A/N: __I am disregarding the canon of the Science of Discworld books, so for causality reasons, the Roundworld project doesn't exist in this story. Also, due to formatting or something, the triple +s don't show up at the start of HEX's bits, so bear with me._

_Yes, there have been minor alterations (/translations) to the title, presenting another opportunity for a literary pun. Cookie to the reader who gets it. _

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Chapter 3: A Wizard's Staff

Sirius stared at the Bursar.

The Bursar stared at Sirius.

"Have some figs." said the Bursar amiably, pointing.

"Thank you." said Sirius thinly, taking the pencil.

A loud BANG interrupted him from eating the proffered refreshment. Through the doors of the hall strode Archancellor Ridcully (following ditheringly by an entourage of Faculty wizards) who didn't just enter, no, the doors flew back from the sheer force of his presence. Sirius was awed, despite himself.

"Sir!" he cried, standing, "They tell me you are the head wizard here."

"Head wizard my ar—"

"Shut up, Dean!" Ridcully turned and gave Sirius a curious look, "So… what do you want? I should warn you I'm claiming no responsibility for that fiasco last week. We paid for the damages! If that man wanted to keep his hair he should have said …"

Then he seemed to finally notice the stranger standing before him, and paused.

"So…" he sat down and beckoned Sirius to do the same, "What's _your_ problem?"

Sirius had thought of different ways to introduce the problem, flattery, bargaining, yet nothing did it quite like getting-down-to-the-point.

"I come from another world." He said flatly.

"Ye-es. How nice for you. Bursar, get Mrs Whitlow to send him off with a packed lunch."

"You don't believe me?" Sirius was incredulous.

Ridcully sighed. He got people like this all the time. People who thought they were ducks. Ducks who thought they were people. Alien abductees. Alien abduc_tors_. Usually a sandwich and a bottle of some nondescript alcohol would shut them up and send them away before he lost his temper.

"_Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for subtlety is not their strong point when they turn you into a flowerpot!"_ he intoned.

"I AM a wizard!" was the reply.

Ridcully sighed. Not one of _those_.

"Yes… unfortunately we do not have any vacancies here, and we really are oversubscribed with students as it is…"

"I don't want to join your bloody university! I want to get back home!" Sirius took a breath, "I come from a land on a planet called Earth. My name is Sirius Black, and I graduated from Hogwarts schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry under Albus Dumbledore…"

"—maybe some dried frog pills – " the Dean suggested.

"…I will prove it." said Sirius, and, taking out his wand, pointed it at the tub of pencils on the table, "_ficus apparae_."

The stationery vanished, replaced by a number of round, plum-coloured fruits. The Bursar picked one up leisurely and started to peel it.

Ridcully's mouth gaped open. The faculty in unison retreated a step. The stranger stared back defiantly.

"That was not a cheap trick." he said quietly, "I have found my wand still works on this world, in fact, in all evidence, it seems to work _better_. But whatever my powers, I came here for your help and your advice. I came here through a- a veil… some sort of portal. I was – should have been – _killed_ during this, not by the veil, but by a curse that hit me as I came through; and yet on this side I am very much alive. I don't know why I came here. It was in this city I emerged… headfirst through the front of Death's robe…" he faltered, realising how ridiculous he sounded.

Ridcully appeared to have heard none of it.

"The skill! The power! He turned them into figs. Into _figs_!"

* * *

As Nobby walked through the Watch house, there were screams. Sounds of glass breaking and feminine (and masculine) swoons followed in his wake. He grinned. 

Even the way he was walking was changing. What's this? One foot, then the other, simple enough, oh but that firm way he swung his pelvis… he was _strutting_.

Tottering behind him, Sergeant Colon was muttering nervously to himself.

"This can't be right Nobby… I've lived with that face of yours for as long as I can remember. How could it just change?"

They stopped outside Vimes' office. Or rather, Colon tugged at Nobby's collar and dragged him to a stop by the door.

"You've gotta do something, Nobby, you can't let yourself go on like this."

"But, Sarge, didn't you see? The girls… they weren't screaming in _terror_!" Nobby turned, his eyes pleading like a golden Labrador. Colon winced. He was… actually tolerable to look at – no – that wasn't true, he _was_ gorgeous. But there was something about this new face, this new Nobby, that made him uncomfortable, and made him suddenly long for the warts-and-all friend from Before.

"It's not like you've had trouble finding girls…" he said, a tad resentfully, remembering Tawnee or whatever her name was, "Point it, dabbling in magic is not an example to set as a Watchman. We are the law, we can't be seen to be encouraging this sort of occult mumbo. Magic don't obey civil law, you know what those wizards are like. You don't even know how long it'll last. There could be side effects!"

"Maybe you're right," said Nobby, "But maybe… maybe it ain't magic."

"You just told me yourself that you were talking to that wizard when it happened! He had no right to do this to you!"

"So? Doesn't mean he did it. He didn't even look like a wizard. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe my luck's finally turned!"

"I'm sure it doesn't work that way…" said Colon uncertainly.

"Don't matter how it came. I'm keeping it."

"You are not!" yelled Colon, "You are going in there, and you are telling Commander Vimes what happened and then we are going to arrest the damn 'wizard' who did this to you!"

The door swung open suddenly, revealing a twitchy-looking Vimes and his half-empty mug of thick muddy coffee.

"What's this racket about?"

He took one look at Nobby, and then at his coffee.

"Gods… that's strong stuff."

Colon explained.

* * *

"I think HEX is examining the…erm, magical residue left on the fruit." Ponder tried, "To see if they're really edible." He added, above the background noise of clicking, cogs wheeling, and occasionally, a foghorn. 

Sirius sat silently in one corner, watching the Archchancellor's face try to process this. From all evidence, he wasn't trying very hard. He massaged his eyes, occasionally flicking away the orang-utan beside him who was pressing, not figs, but bananas into his hand. The best way, he found, in dealing with this messy world, was to ignore it. The other wizards actually seemed a little unnerved by his presence, the one called Ponder especially so. Maybe he had stared; he'd never met the boy before, and yet the lad was so curiously… familiar.

The others, he didn't remember their names, Lecturers and Senior whatnots… they didn't actually seem to do any work. They called this place a university, but where were the students?

"Of course they're edible." He heard Ridcully say, "The Bursar's still insane, isn't he?"

In front of them, the machine they called HEX ticked away unfazed. All of the figs, including the half-eaten one, had been placed on one side of the scales that had appeared from somewhere within the machine, and as the weight tipped it, there came bursts of activity. An hourglass eggtimer shot out on a spring from somewhere within the myriad circuits.

The former student of Hogwarts could not help but be amazed. This magical engine seemed almost muggle in its construction, yet its thinking power seemed to be many times that of the entire faculty combined. The young wizard had explained how to use it, the horn to speak instructions into, the little discs that they inserted. Then he tried to explain how it worked, and had given up. The machine kept on working regardless: the ants scurried in their tubes; there was more clicking sounds; levers went up or down… and then a quill extended towards the framed sheet, and wrote:

Transfiguration Process. Morphic Pattern Undisturbed +++

"Well what does that mean?" said the Senior Wrangler.

Sirius spoke up, "Transfiguration is what we call a spell that, er, turns one thing into another."

"Er, yes…" Ponder added uncertainly, "What HEX is saying is that the magic used was, er, stable."

"Stable? Magic is never stable. S' whole point of magic." Said the Senior Wrangler rather smugly, "You can't just turn one thing into another, there's not enough magic to balance it –it's gotta to change back sooner or later."

"Ook." Said the orang-utan, in a distinctly petulant tone.

"Well HEX has implied that it is." Said Ponder patiently, "The figs are completely whole and, by all appearances, edible. It wasn't a glamour or illusion, is what HEX means. If one of us were to perform such a spell, that would cause a magical imbalance, if you will, which would result in temporal fractures, distortion…"

"Get to the point." Said Ridcully.

"Right. So. What we saw was real magic that didn't cause any, erm, side effects to the dimension qualities…"

"Keep going…"

"…or to the…" he hesitated, "Basically: nothing from the Dungeon Dimensions is going to make a surprise visit."

There was an expectant pause.

"Not even a tentacle?" said the Lecturer in Recent Runes.

"Not even a tentacle." Said Ponder, slightly relieved.

As one, the wizards turned to stare at Sirius, who stared back.

"What?" he said.

"I don't know about you lot," said the Dean slowly, "But the word 'Sourcerer' comes to mind."

There were murmurs as the wizards conferred this together.

"Where I come from," said Sirius, feeling patronised, " 'Sorcerer' is just another is another word for 'wizard'"

Louder murmurs.

"We mean 'Sourcerer', with a 'u'." said the Lecturer in Recent Runes helpfully.

More murmurs.

"I'm not American." said Sirius.

They huddled together again.

"Maybe we should call Rincewind…" said the Senior Wrangler, "After all, he is Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography. He's ran away from lots of places. Maybe he's visited this 'earth'?"

There were more assenting murmurs; approval of the plan was given, and after a short and silent wait, Sirius was soon greeted by a new face. A scrawny wizard, who walked into the little room as if there was a huge invisible hand dragging him there by the collar. His eyes kept wandering longingly towards the exit.

"Ah, Rincewind," said Ridcully, with the manner of a disdainful schoolteacher – almost Snape-like, Sirius thought for a moment, "We've called you here to fulfil some duties of this relatively new, um, role that you've earned. This man here," he waved at Sirius, "says he comes from a completely new land, nothing I've heard of on the Disc, calls it 'Inglund' – have you heard of it?"

The thin wizard shifted uncomfortably, "I don't really pay attention to place names when I'm running away for my life."

"I think I'd remember if I ever saw this man run through my world." said Sirius, eyeing the fading stars and sequins over the man's sagging hat, the cleaner absences where they'd dropped off spelling out '_wizzard'_ in unbleached felt. This one seemed wary of the other wizards, who were giving him eager prods in Sirius' direction.

"Does your world have any monsters, common trademark ones…?" Rincewind ventured.

"Plenty." Sirius replied, "But most are harmless. There are dragons…"

" – oh yes, world has to have dragons at some point or other – " Recent Runes interjected.

"…and other creatures that might attack a human of your sort can range from – oh – giant spiders, giant snakes, or just plain Giants." he finished.

The scrawny man thought for a moment, "Nope… none of those ring a bell…"

Sirius shrugged, "You wouldn't see them unless you were within the magical community. There are those that aren't aware magic exists, we call them muggles, they usually get their memory of such incidents wiped. So even if you did, you wouldn't remember."

He watched the wizard's puzzled face, as he tried to remember what might or might not have happened at all.

"Erm... I think…" said Rincewind forlornly, "Nope."

Sirius expected as much.

"What about the name of your turtle?" said Ridcully.

"Uh… I don't own a turtle." said Sirius.

"No, I mean, the name of the turtle that your world stands upon."

Sirius had to repeat the sentence mentally to himself before answering.

"My world… doesn't stand on the back of a turtle."

"Oh fair enough." said Ponder, "It is possible that there are worlds out there flying through space on another kind of animal… turtles are obviously the ideal choice, but there might be variations on the theme. Llamas have a nice hump to live on. Warm, too. Maybe Platypii? They're good swimmers. Best of both worlds, ha ha." His laughter petered into silence.

Sirius took a breath.

"No-o." he said slowly, "The Earth is round."

Gasps erupted from all around the room. Now they seemed to be forming a no-go zone around him, as if he were carrying some virulent disease. Some were backing into the walls and tables.

"It's round!" he snapped, standing. The wizards closest to him flinched, "What are you, stuck in the middle ages?! The world is round, and goes round the sun, and there are no turtles and no elephants, and…"

"Oh Gods, he's Omnian!" cried the Senior Wrangler, throwing his hands up, "He's a Sourcerer and he's Omnian! He's an Omnian Sourcerer!!"

"Save us all." muttered Ridcully.

Sirius strode to the whirring machine and slammed a hand on the speaking horn.

"You call this your thinking engine with all the answers. Then maybe it can answer what you clearly have no idea about!" He snarled, turning the horn to his mouth, "How on earth did I get here, and how on whatever-this-place-is do I get back?"

There was a short pause, then the gears began to whirr again, turning and turning. The ants were scurrying inordinately fast; somewhere a bellows was whistling, and then when Sirius thought the whole machine might explode, the noises stopped. The quill extended and began to write:

Welcome To The Discworld, With Its Many Cities, Cultures, Cuisines And Fun Activities For All The Family! Your Arrival Here Seems To Be Circumstantial With Your Untimely Demise. +++

"That's roughly what Death said." Sirius muttered, "Purely circumstantial, what does that mean?"

In Both Worlds, You Have Come To Death +++

"Is that supposed to be a joke?!" he barked at the wizards surrounding him.

"HEX isn't programmed to have a sense of humour." said Ponder.

He felt like sinking his face into his hands and breaking down completely. The quill scribbled again:

Narrativium Has Brought You To An Ironic And/Or Humourous Destination. Your Death Placed You In The Most Appropriate Location On This World To Equate Your Passing On Your Own World. +++

"What the—what… what does that mean? What the hell is Narrativium?"

There was more scratching.

Narrativium Is An Elemental Force Of Life. It Has Brought You Here In This Literary Genre Crossover For Entertainment And Experimental Purposes Yet To Be Revealed. +++

"Oh, well, of course, that makes perfect sense of EVERYTHING!"

"Temper, really!" said the Dean, aside.

Sirius took a deep breath before speaking again into the horn, his tone strained, "Right." He said, "Funny Machine. Funny Machine that knows everything. Ha ha. I'm talking to a machine. I'm talking to you, so you will answer me. Definite answers so far, zero… So lets try the easiest shall we…?" his voice was becoming higher, more pleading, "So… be good, and answer. The question now is… _how do I get back_?"

The engine began to drum again. The eggtime shot out, and rotated several times, while more levers worked frantically as the ants ran amok. The answer took a much longer time to come up with, but it was much briefer:

Out of Cheese Error +++

Sirius was stunned for a moment, and then found he couldn't restrain the words that fired from his mouth.

"Language, really!" said the Dean, to no effect.

"You don't know, do you?!" Sirius gasped, still shouting at the machine, "I'm stuck here, in this city of lunatics and clowns that call themselves wizards, while my Godson and his friends might be dead back there, for all I know, and you have no bloody idea!!"

HEX was silent.

"Stuck… you don't know!"

Deflated, he turned to face the onlooking wizards, who were all still staring at him in mild expressions of horror and amusement. The orang-utan ambled over and ruffled his hair sympathetically.

He jerked at it with his wand and said,

"_Levicorpus_."


	4. Through the Reading Room

_A/N: this chapter is dedicated to all the David Tennant fans out there..._

* * *

Chapter Four: Through the Reading Room

"How is he doing then?" said Ridcully to Ponder.

"I left him in the dining hall the Bursar and a hot meal. He looked half-starved when he came." The younger wizard shifting uneasily, "Don't think he's eaten any of it, though."

"What! Not even the steak with seven kinds of hot sauce?"

"Hasn't touched it."

Ridcully leaned in, "Are you _sure_ he's a wizard?"

"You saw what he did, sir!"

"Yes… yes… I suppose. Er, has the Librarian got over the, er…" he whistled and looped a finger upwards in a demonstrating gesture.

"Ah. I think so. He's calmed down now, I think." Ponder said, the memories coming back unsullied. His arm still bore the fingernail marks, "When Mr. Black got him down he seemed more happy than scared."

"Probably the accumulation of blood to the brain. Sends one a bit giddy, it does."

Both wizards paused to remember the scene, when the fifteen-stone male orang-utan had suddenly given a squawk, and shot up into the air upside-down and stayed there, as if suspended from an invisible noose around his leg. The 'Wizard' had frozen, his expression inscrutable, while the rest of the Faculty sank quickly into chaos, as the Librarian, from his new height, found himself conveniently in reach of the all the top-shelves and store cupboards that surrounded the lab. In his panic, he acted instinctively: reach for every heavy object in sight and launch it in a random direction. Broken glass, bruises, puffs of smoke and sparks, and comical slips over a goo-covered floor ensued as everything from potions to paperweights were hurled around the room.

It took seven minutes for Sirius Black to come to his mind to use his wand and the lure of a rum-dipped banana to quiet the mayhem. It took more than an hour to clean the lab. The students were still clearing up the mess, occasionally sprouting feathers when accidentally touching some of the spilt stuff.

"Yes, sir." Said Ponder meditatively, "Still, sir, I think Mr. Black is the one we should be worry about." He was being perfectly sincere.

He had left Sirius Black earlier in the mess hall with food and drink, and the man had barely noticed, seemingly enrapt in his own despair. Ponder remembered the wizard's reaction when, after the whole Librarian fiasco, when Ponder was showing him round, he spotted the model in the lab – the resin mould one of the Discworld on its four elephants and turtle. He seemed calm enough then, so Ponder had obliged to his questions and requests, and began showing him the maps of the world, and showing him, via. the Omniscope, The Known World.

His reaction had been terrifying. The man was silent, for a long while, making Ponder more uncomfortable than ever. Then he had picked up the turtle model, and then began to _laugh_. Low, clipped bursts of laughter, that soon became a vague hysteria; the desperate laugh of one who is waiting for the joke to end. He couldn't help but pity him, but there was something… not quite human about him that he couldn't identify. He was perfectly fine when he was calm, but it fell apart when he learned the elephants were real. Something: as if he'd lost his humanity long ago, and even now, was only remembering it in bits and pieces.

"You're quite right." Said Ridcully loudly, bringing him back from his troubled thoughts, "I'm sure we've all felt like strangling the Librarian at some point of another, but what he did was quite uncalled for."

"Yes sir." said Ponder, suppressing the memory, "Um, sir, I just – I wanted to ask you about, um, Mr. Black's 'wand'."

"Yes, I thought it was rather funny as well, until he used it, of course. Fancy a grown man using a wand... No flashy golden stars on the end either. Honestly. Clearly, magic on _his_ world has no sense of style."

"I think that's the least of our problems."

"Oh?"

Ponder took a breath, "HEX did a bit more thinking after we'd gone, and he's said some interesting things…"

* * *

Vimes circled the individual that he had formerly considered corporal. At intervals, he pointed, and opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated. 

"What should we do, sir?" said Colon, tentatively, hoping to prod his Commander into necessary action.

Vimes didn't answer. The small man sat before him was by all accounts, recognisably Nobby Nobbs. But a transformation had taken place. He looked, for the first time in his life, Definitely Human. No longer was there that misshapen potato of a face – this new visage was smooth, unblemished and perfect, with a nose and brow both straight and proud. The jaw, the eyes, the shape; everything there was one hundred percent Nobby, and yet, viewed whole, he was Utterly Magnificent.

"If… if you were to arrest this wizard," Vimes began, "What would be the reason?"

Colon looked puzzled, "Well, he did this to Nobby!" he said, pointing at the Corporal's head.

"But… why was it a crime?" asked Vimes.

"He put a spell on him! That's not allowed, is it?"

Vimes sighed, placing his palms upon his desk.

"I completely agree. But from what you've said, it's gonna be hard pinning anything down on this guy."

"How?"

"Well, firstly, if you wander up to this man and arrest him, you need grounds for arrest." he said, matter of fact, "We've both seen the result – he used magic on Nobby, a Watchman of the Law, and that's not right. But he can say that he didn't do anything wrong. He can say… he was redecorating the civil battlements."

"Say again?"

"Well, he can claim that he was, ah, _enhancing_ Nobby's looks – no offence Nobby –"

" – none taken –"

"And therefore committed no _offence_. Nobby is unharmed, and to all opinion, much improved. To arrest him, you have to prove that what he did was against the law and therefore _wrong_.

"Secondly, even if you do prove he committed an indictable offence, how're you gonna get to him? He's a stranger, and he's just wandered into the Unseen University. You know how wizards are. Dealing with them will be like nailing jelly to a goat."

Colon was silent, his expression troubled.

"If you caught him…" said Nobby, "What would you have to do?"

"Well, make him turn you back, for one," said Colon quickly, "Plus it's a minor thing, so maybe a fine…?"

"In that case," said Nobby, "I refuse to press any charges."

The sergeant's face was utterly horrified.

"But you can't stay like this! It's not you!"

"It is me." Said Nobby quietly, "It's who I should've been."

Vimes decided to interrupt.

"If Nobby doesn't want to press charges, then there's nothing we can use on this wizard – hang on, Fred, I haven't finished." He paced around the desk, "We can't arrest him without a cause. But our priority is Nobby's safety. If this magic has repercussions, we must find out about them. Nobby… I know you think this face is better for you, but I hope that you'll realise that what really decides a person's worth is what lies on the inside."

"Don't think my kidneys'll fetch much."

"Thank you, corporal. In any case, we are still going to find this wizard character."

"Sir – you said we couldn't arrest him!"

"I'm not ordering an arrest, Fred. Nobby's face is not all I had in mind." Said Vimes, "Nobby said the first time he saw this man was this morning, when they were taking away Barnabas. This wizard was a primary witness of what happened. According to Nobby's notes his name was… _Serious_... Anyway, I am sending Captain Carrot to bring him back here tomorrow, and Nobby will go with him. I need to ask him a few questions myself."

"About the accident?" asked Nobby.

"About the murder." said Vimes.

* * *

Ponder skimmed down the reams of printouts that HEX had produced. The machine had become hyperactive, if it could be called that, after the wizard had come, and had begun spewing knowledge left, right and centre. Nothing seemed to make sense, yet he was sure the wand was crucial to something. 

One of the written sheets looked interesting. Ponder picked up the scribbled paper…

… Does This World-Hopping Make A Mary Sue+++

Oh dear, thought Ponder, HEX was philosophising again, thinking in paths too complex for any wizard, let alone a human, to fathom. He glanced at another of the sheets…

… With Author's Delusions Of Grandeur Leading To Excessive Use Of Romantic Irony As Homage To Gaarder's Sophie. +++

He read it through, and didn't understand a word. Who the hell were all these women? He shrugged, and threw it back into the pile.

The third one he picked up read much of the same gibberish, but a certain seven-letter word caught his eye. He read it through, and then read it again.

"Oh no," he said, "Oh no-o..."

The word was 'curtain'.

* * *

Sirius had wandered into the realm of the Library, with the permission of the orang-utan. The creature did not seem to have forgiven him, however – it waddled away 'ooking' madly whenever he went near it or tried to apologise. He had found, belatedly, on several occasions, objects from banana skins to frying pans specifically positioned above precipitous places that he was likely to walk under. It really was a very intelligent animal, he thought, rubbing the several souvenir cranial bruises. It had to be, to live in a place like this. 

The Library had looked ordinary at first, like so many things in this sense-forsaken world, with that dreary, musty smell he associated with old paper. Of course, there was that domed ceiling that hurt the logical process of the brain, so he tried not to look up if he could help it. There had been warnings given about the place, but he figured that as long as he didn't delve too far, in fact, if he just stayed near this wall by the non-fiction, he would be fine.

He chose a book with green binding from a nearby shelf – it looked less dull than the others. Unfortunately, the title turned out to be 'Third Viscosity Constant and its Uses in Thaumic Constipation, nineteenth edition', by one Sibilius Wort. Sighing, he closed it, and reached to put it back.

And paused. He hadn't noticed before, but in the space where he'd removed the book, there was, not the wall behind or wooden boarding that he expected to see, but _more library_. He bent forward to peer through the little gap in the shelf, and found, to some amazement, in the distance, more shelves of books. The shelves on the other side seemed more brightly lit, and the books there appeared cleaner. It looked like a different library altogether from this one, or was it just another room? He had a very limited scope but there was something familiar about that scene…

There was movement; he stepped back as someone on the other side came and stood right in front of the bookcase, obscuring his view. He could see a hand flitting here and there, dusting and rearranging. The silhouette was womanly, straining a little round the waist but a back as straight as a hardback spine.

The figure turned, and Sirius instantly recognised the nose.

"Madam Pince?!"

He nearly yelled out. He recognised it now – that bookcase, next to the oriel window, next to the study desks, and behind, the reference section that you needed a written slip to get into. He remembered its layout, only vaguely, since he spent so little time there, but how could he not see? There, on the other side, was the Hogwarts Library.

Heart racing, he pulled more books from the shelf, spilling them onto the floor. Now he could see it: the reading room where Hermione had spent so many hours, and Lupin too, in his day. The university wizards had tried to explain the concept of L-space to him, and he wished he'd listened. If all libraries were connected, then surely, this was the way back!

He yelled out "Hey!" but the figure of Madam Pince didn't respond. He tried again, but no reaction.

He cried her name, then his own name, then insults, and even "Oi, fat wench, look over here!!" but it seemed like he was shouting through a black mirror: she neither saw nor heard him. Oblivious to his frantic presence, the Hogwarts librarian finished her dusting and moved to another part of the room, and was lost from view.

Sirius sank back from the shelf, disheartened, but he would not give up. That _was_ Hogwarts on the other side. That was _his_ world. He tried stretching an arm through the gap, and found it passed through unobstructed. He reached his hand into the space of the other library, and felt below his tentative fingers, the familiar leather-bound volumes, meticulously spotless. He nearly laughed. His home lay on the other side of this book case.

Now he had to find his way round it. Resolute, he started down the aisle. Hogwarts was on the other side. His world, his home, his family, Harry. He ran.

The shelves stretched on and on, endless walls of dusty tomes. Next right, he told himself, next right, and sped on, his feet heavy against the worn carpets. Yet the aisle kept on going and he could see no break in the shelves. How big was this library? Too big to make sense. Next right, and then the turn after that.

Almost gasping for breath now, he saw up ahead a crossroads between reference and sci-fi, and skidded, before turning into the next section and—

Stopping.

It was immediately clear he was no longer in the University Library, yet this was not Hogwarts either.

Sirius took in the view around him. This place looked like the inside of a spaceship; the walls were metal, stretching up into an infinite ceiling, supported by graceful steel pillars, and through the centre, a spiralling ladder staircase, up and up into rails and rails of… clothes. Endless clothes from endless centuries. He saw hangers and manikins sporting eons of fashions: bearskin cloaks, bomber jackets, pantaloons, togas, khakis, denim flares, lederhosen; there was even a suit of armour in one corner. Like a department store combined with a museum, he thought.

"Hello! Got lost, have you?" said a voice, and Sirius jumped. It was a man, youngish looking, wirily built, with a tone of voice almost unhealthily enthusiastic. He was wearing normal enough clothes, twentieth-century in any case: a brown pinstripe suit, matched curiously with white plimsolls, and was admiring himself, hands in pockets, in a long mirror on the other side of the room.

"What do you think, too preppy, too formal? Should I keep the tie? Doesn't matter if the shoes don't go, practicality's the thing. Colours fine… would be better if I were ginger…" he turned, flashing a disturbingly cheerful grin.

"Um. You look… fine." Sirius managed, trying not to stare, "Look, I've, er… Sorry, I've just come through, ah… I was looking for… library… got a bit… lost…um," he breathed in: "Where am I?"

"Don't worry, this happens all the time." The not-ginger man said, and paused, "Actually, it doesn't. You're the first in ages. Usually they're wearing hats and lots more sequins, though. Just sort of disappear the way they came. Never tried it myself. I suppose it has something to do with the library thing… lots of things are bigger on the inside, ha ha."

"This isn't a library." Sirius remarked.

"Well, technically no, it's my wardrobe. But if you'd turn around, you'll find you just exited my rather large DVD collection."

Sirius turned to look, and the statement proved true.

"If you just keep walking back the way you came and turn left when you reach the box-sets, you should find your way back." The man called over his shoulder.

"Right." Sirius muttered, and awkwardly turned. Trying to suppress the hopping exclamation marks in his head, he follow the instructions as calmly as he could, and quickly found himself back under the familiar dome of the university again. Turning his neck left and right, he saw around him, once more, books, more books, a dense jungle of paper-bound knowledge. His heart sank. He crumpled down onto the carpet, leaning his head back against a hard shelf. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Back on the TARDIS, the man in plimsolls contemplated himself in the mirror. 

"Maybe I'll ask Rose…" he said to no one in particular.

Then he bent forward again to admire his new teeth.


	5. When Harry Met Ponder

_A/N: Note about the title. 'Après mort, le deluge' (which one reviewer translated quite accurately) was inspired by the aphorism '_Apr_è_s-moi, le deluge_', which means, simply, '_after me comes the flood_', and is often used in conjunction with the words _George Dubya Bush_. Mistakes today, chaos tomorrow. Originally it was a poem by Boris Pasternak, and has been adapted into song by the brilliant Regina Spektor – both worth looking up._

_On with the show. Sirius' suffering isn't over yet. Things are about to get angst-y. PG-13 for language._

* * *

Chapter 5: When Harry Met Ponder

The lab was cleaner now, battalions of scrubbing students and their mops having made their mark. Sirius wandered through the empty room with a vague feeling of emptiness in his stomach. He had not eaten, though the food provided was good and rich – he felt it would make him sick. Or was it some other, more primal reason; fear, perhaps, of the pomegranate seeds that would seal Persephone's prison?

He had slept a rough, fitful sleep; he couldn't remember where, only that after the jaunt in the library he was so exhausted by sheer _reality_ that suddenly the carpet became much more appealing. So he sank down in an empty corner in one of the rooms and chose unconsciousness for a few peaceful hours.

Now his head hurt. He strolled down the length of the lab bench, fingering lightly the weird multitude of instruments that covered it. He had already tried the Omniscope in the corner, with Ponder Stibbons, and that was a dizzying experience he was not likely to forget. Maybe he would end up in robes and sequins, like these maniacs. Teaching had never appealed to him, but he could teach his magic here. He would show them how to run a school.

He shook the thoughts away. No! He would find his way home; surely, with enough time, the wizards would find some new piece of information, and a solution would be reached. And perhaps one day, he would meet Death again. He needed to persevere. Harry was relying on him.

_Sirius_.

No sooner than he thought the name of his godson, he heard his own spoken, a hollow echo thrown about the room. He jumped. It was his name, and he recognised the voice.

"Harry?" he yelled at the ceiling, "Harry, where are you?"

_Sirius!_

"Harry! Are you okay? Are you safe? Harry!" he was yelling so loudly, his voice was hoarse, "I'm here – I'm here! I'm not dead, I'm not—"

But the voice did not speak again. There was silence, and moments later, he thought he heard a faint tinkling of broken glass. He turned to the Omniscope in flayed desperation.

"Harry Potter. I want to see Harry Potter!"

The first time he used this and asked to see his home, all that was shown was blackness – it could not penetrate between worlds. This time the screen was blurred, and then clear – something had been found – but still he could see nothing: the image was distorted and splintered, like deep cracked ice.

Suddenly, a thought came to him. His hands began to fumble wildly around his cleaned-out pockets, through left and right, and then the internal one. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, slipped inside the jacket lining, and pulled it out.

The mirror. His breathing grew ragged. Harry had tried to call him through the mirror, in vain. The little wooden-framed mirror in his hands, siamese to Harry's own, was chipped and cracked, the same fragmented pattern as the image on the Omniscope.

"Oh god…" he moaned, and something like a tangled scream rose in his throat. He drew a shuddering breath.

A slow realisation of pain made him look down at his hand. He had grasped the broken mirror so tightly one of the pieces had come loose and stabbed the flesh of his palm. Blood dripped lazily over the vacant glass and pooled on the floor. He let go with a jerk, hearing more tinny sounds of breakage as the rest of the mirror shattered.

"I'm so sorry, Harry… god… I'm so sorry…"

* * *

"Now, look here, Captain Carrot, he may not officially belong to the university…" 

"…I understand, Archchancellor, and the Watch would not presume to usurp your authority over this matter…"

"…Quite right! He may be a complete stranger (and from what I've seen, a total nutjob), but he's still a wizard under this roof—"

"…And therefore any discipline instigated would be under your management, Archchancellor. We know. Commander Vimes is merely offering his services in helping you get down to the bottom of this whole lengthy, paperwork-filled episode…"

Ridcully's face blanched. He peered across the table into the mild face of Captain Carrot, who sat upright, a paradigm of civil dignity, his helmet tucked neatly under one arm.

"…Paperwork?" he quavered.

"Oh yes," said Carrot smoothly, "Anything like this would require quite a few forms legalising the whole process, and reports on each new development would have to be written up periodically as they happen. The Watch, as you know, have people specially trained to handle the bureaucratic side of the whole thing. All you'd have to do is… deal with the results we get."

"So you're saying…" said Ridcully, twirling a hand, "If I hand over the wizard to _you_… you would do your questioning, find out if he's really guilty of whatever you think he's guilty of, then hand him back to me to await my wrath…?"

"Er, yes, well, we do not suspect him to be guilty of the crime, just that he was there, and Commander Vimes needs to question him further…" said Carrot.

"But I get to do the punishing."

"It would be by your authority."

"Then by the Gods, you can take him and do what you like!"

* * *

Ponder found Sirius Black sat on the floor of the basement lab, sitting with his elbows against his knees, and his head buried in his hands. 

"Um. Mr-Mr. Black – sir?"

The man's head jerked up, and for a moment, Ponder saw on his face a strange flash of euphoria upon recognising him. But the flash passed, submerged beneath the layers of gloom.

"I'm – sorry… Ponder," said Sirius distractedly. He got up awkwardly, steadying himself against a wall, before finding a stool to sit on.

"Are you alright, Mr. Black, sir?"

"_Sirius_ is fine, Ponder."

The younger wizard nodded, and wondered whether there was a double entendre there.

"I came to find you as soon as I could," he tried uncertainly, "HEX did some more thinking, and came up with some things that I think you should hear about. I can't say if it's helpful or even relevant, but if it's accurate, it might just… could be… why are you looking at me like that?"

Sirius tore his gaze away from the other wizard's face.

"Sorry." He passed a hand across an eye, "You remind me of him."

Ponder sat down in the next chair. "You mean 'Harry', don't you?" he said, now understanding the flash of joy he had seen . The older wizard didn't nod.

"You're closer to his father's age… when I knew him." he said, "But yes, you remind me of him." a giddy laugh escaped, "Just now, when you came in, I thought…" another hiccup of laughter, "I thought I heard his voice, right here, in this very room. He said my name. 'Sirius!' – twice. I don't know… he didn't sound frightened, or hurt… the second time, his voice was almost… _angry_…"

He showed the contents of his hand: the pieces of mirror, blood congealing around the edges, making Ponder slightly nauseous.

"Your… hand?" he gasped, still not understanding.

Sirius nodded to his wand. The palm was uninjured, the skin merely flushed a pale pink.

"He's such a brave boy," said Sirius, and now his voice was cracked, "He was my godson… he was my friend too. He went there, he went to the ministry for me, to try and save me…" here a bark-like laugh, "and I don't know if he's alive or dead right now!"

"Maybe," said Ponder, trying hard to come up with something, "Maybe he was angry. Because—because he survived, and was looking for you."

"He's alive and thinks I'm dead." Sirius gave a bleak smile, "And unfortunately, of all the possibilities available, that is most comforting one."

Devoid of anything left to say, Ponder brought up the sheets of paper in his hands. Seeing Sirius's quizzical look, he took a breath, spreading the papers with their unintelligible +++ words +++ over the bench.

"H-okay." He said, "I've been doing some thinking, and after reading what HEX said… Well, it's, ha, um, it's a little hard to explain like this... It really hit me when you talked about the veil over on your side. You said you came through a portal…"

"I didn't know what it was at the time."

"Well, okay. Portals aren't common, they just happen, and guess what, you came through one. But, thing is, when you mentioned the veil, and then how that was linked to Death's robe as well…" Ponder paused, seeing the other wizard's sceptical expression, "Have you heard of the phrase 'fabric of reality'?"

Sirius sighed.

"You're going to tell me that the veil I passed through was the fabric of this reality or some dimensional thing, aren't you?" he said wearily.

Ponder made a face, "Well. Yes." He ruffled through some of the printouts on the bench. "HEX goes on about it in a bit of detail. There is a theory that our universe, the fabric of our universe, is actually that: a piece of fabric, a membrane. It can be a sheet stretching to infinity, or a bubble, and we're all simply floating around inside the eleventh dimension that stretches on infinitely (but it's more of a tube, or a straw), and when two membranes collide, that gives birth to new—"

"—Ponder."

"Yes. Sorry. Bit of a tangent there." He nudged his glasses up his nose, "On this world, your portal was Death… On the Discworld, as you've seen, Death makes his presence felt. Death is everywhere; they say his domain lives outside of time or space or… he is the Ultimate Reality. His cloak is Reality, the fabric of his mantle the veil between Life and Death but here..."

"… it is the veil between worlds." Sirius's eyes flashed. He turned to the younger wizard, "I tried to get back! I tried to get back the same way." He pointed to the dark patch on his hairline. "See this bruise?"

"Yes, yes, I know. Head – bony ribcage – big ow. But I can explain. It's all in what HEX said… Imagine the fabric of reality… as a curtain."

"Reality Curtain?" Sirius scoffed.

"It's probably the best way to explain it. Your veil is a curtain, Death's robe… not a curtain, but close enough. Behind your 'curtain' was the 'window' that brought you here, but these 'windows', they don't last. They come and go. Once something passes through, they lose energy."

"That's why I couldn't get back the same way."

"Right. The curtain theory also means that… well… if there are other windows and curtains out there… who knows what may come through. But the point is, even without the windows, the curtains are permanent. If we could find Death again – I might be able to convince the Archchancellor to do the Rite of Ashk-ente – or perhaps find another reality curtain, there's a chance you can travel back the same way!"

The wizard of Hogwarts broke into a weak but genuine smile.

"Thank you, Ponder."

"It really is all conjecture," said Ponder bashfully, "We haven't done anything yet. I just thought I should let you know about it. I'll need to do a lot more research – I'll keep you informed of everything. But it means that, if I'm right in my theory…"

"…You've given me hope. Hope of home."

Ponder was wondering where to put his face when, suddenly, from behind him, there was a loud but polite cough. The wizards turned around together to meet the benign, smiling face of Captain Carrot in the doorway.

Sirius squinted from the gleam of the polished armour. From behind the Captain, he recognised the new-and-improved face of Corporal Nobbs. It looked distinctly uncomfortable, as well as gorgeous. Beside him, Ponder was staring at the new Nobby in rapt wonder.

"Excuse my interruption," said the Captain, "I am Captain Carrot of this Watch, and this is Corporal Nobby Nobbs, whom you have already met. I am right in presuming that you are Mr. Serious Black?"

Sirius laughed, internally regretting giving away his real name so quickly on this world.

"It's _Sirius_."

"Not yet, perhaps, but we shall have to see." Carrot replied, missing the wizard's puzzled frown.

"Look, I'm sorry about the face." Sirius said, without much vigour, pointing at the Corporal, "I just used _Episkey_, thought I'd fix his nose. It just turns out my magic's a bit… stronger… over here. I'll change it back for you now if you want." He took out his wand. Nobby yelped.

"Will you heck!" he cried, hiding behind the massive figure of Carrot. The captain restrained him gently with a hand.

"It's good to see your goodwill, Mr. Black," said Carrot evenly, "but we're here for other reasons. You were a witness to the death of Barnabas the Foul-Mouthed, and unfortunately, something more has come up. I'm afraid we need to bring you back to the Watch House for further questioning. We already have the permission of Archchancellor Ridcully. You are now under custody of the Watch, Mr. Black."

Sirius's face went pale.

"I've done nothing wrong."

"Of course not, we are merely taking you back with us for some questions about the murder. "

"I have murdered no one." Was the chilly reply, "However I may regret it, that is the truth. On this world I have committed no crime."

"That may be, but you were a key witness and we need more information of the scene. Commander Vimes wishes to see you in person."

"I was falsely accused once before you know. Of murder."

"We accuse you of nothing, Mr. Black."

Sirius was silent. In a way, Carrot reminded him of Dumbledore: that irreproachable patience, so calm and ineffable, yet here, it felt so patronising. Quietly, he began to speak, but he could feel himself on the verge of snapping:

"I'm already in hell here, Captain, without you coming along and shovelling more shit on top of me. I'm not going behind bars, I've done nothing. I'll change your corporal back to how he was, but please, just leave me alone…"

There was a soft tap on his arm: Ponder.

"Maybe you should just go with them." He said earnestly, "They're not prosecuting you, and Captain Carrot is a fair man. Ridcully wouldn't let anything happen to a wizard."

Carrot did look a fair man. In that noble façade, Sirius saw duty, loyalty, and even a compassionate pity for him, the alien. Yet even now, he had strayed too deeply into this mad world. Stranded: first Death; then Wizards – that bloody library; and now even the local police squad involved. Some holiday. He couldn't go with them. The thought of going into a prison or even being near one, the bars, the lock, the darkness; it sent a cold weight through him, inside his stomach, making his tongue taste of despair. Dementors drove everyone mad in the end, they said. He always claimed he was unaffected. He wondered how much that was true.

"Can I use the toilet before we go?" he said in a light, affected voice, which received a nervous look from Ponder. Yet Carrot nodded without reluctance, and Sirius was allowed to visit the little wizard's room down the corridor with Nobby as an escort.

Once he got there, he made Nobby wait outside – he showed him that the window was too high for a grown man to crawl through anyway. Shutting the door and bolting it as well, he let out a breath of relief.

The lavatory was medieval but cleaner than he'd expected, but he was not here for that purpose. There was a grubby mirror above the sink that he was leaning on, and he looked at his reflection for a moment.

It was not a happy sight. His hair was uncombed and matted, his chin dark from the days without a razor, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was worn, exhausted emotionally, and was still achingly hungry. The Watchmen might be kind. But he could not follow them back. He could not risk putting himself into that place again.

"Only one way out, Padfoot," he murmured to the gaunt face in the mirror.

* * *

"He's taking rather a while, isn't he?" Carrot observed, "Is this a wizard thing?" 

And gathering immediately from Ponder's reaction that it wasn't, he strided down the corridor without hesitation, trailed uncertainly by the wizard, and found Corporal Nobbs still outside the lavatory.

"Don't worry, sir," said Nobby, "He ain't come out yet. I'd have seen him."

Carrot banged on the door three times. There was no answer.

"He has been rather quiet in there…" said Nobby unsurely.

Carrot fumbled with the locked bolt. Then, giving up, he turned, and with a small run, drove his plated shoulder into the wooden door. The hinges splintered, and the door swung wide.

There was a cool breeze flowing through the room: the window had been opened. The three men ran to it, but it was a baffling sight. Though shoulder heigh, the gap was far too narrow for any of them to fit through. And though they scanned the room and searched every cubicle, it was totally empty.

Then Nobby said "Sir!" and pointed, to a corner, where, pushed messily into a heap, were a pile of clothes including a shirt, loose shoes and a brown robe that definitely belonged to the wizard, Sirius Black. The wand, however, was absent.

"Well, he should be easy to find," said Nobby cheerfully, "People'll remember seeing a stark naked man running round Ankh-Morpork."

Carrot did not reply.

* * *

Sirius the animagus padded down the cobbled streets of Ankh Morpork, whose denizens paid him no heed. In his mouth he carried his wand, now his most sacred possession of all. He had no idea where he was going, or where he should go, but followed his instincts. 

Now this was freedom.

Up ahead, there wafted a scent that drove his saliva buds into meltdown. He'd have to clean the wand of drool afterwards. The scene tasted like fried onions… or sausages.

He trotted at a slightly faster pace down the little street, following his trusted nose. Perhaps it was negligence of his sense of sight which led him to run into something that wasn't in front of him a moment ago. Canine head reeling, he hopped back, and heard above him in booming tones:

"Awh… nice doggie. Big strong doggie, jus' like Watch Officer."

The voice was rolling, gravelly. He looked up into the vast mottled surface of what looked to be a mountain. It was blocking, not only the road, but his sunlight. A troll.

_Oh great_. He sighed mentally to himself.

"Does doggie want to play…?" the voice boomed.

_No, you stupid piece of rock, go away, move out of the way!!_

But all he could express were some tail wags and a shaking of the head. He made a run for it, but the huge granite figure had already taken the end of the wand sticking out from his jaw. He scrambled to a halt, jerking the delicate wooden wand with his teeth.

_Let… go…! _He yelled in mental fury, and tried to pull it back.

A pathetic tug-of-war resulted, but the troll was immovable: Sirius let go, saliva spraying everywhere. A broken wand snapped in half would help nobody. The troll inspected the magical instrument carelessly, while Sirius panicked unnoticed.

He tried a different tactic: he raised his paws in an affectionate dog-like pose (though it stabbed daggers at his dignity) and tried, for the first time in his four-legged career, to whine.

_Look into my eyes, my huge, black, dewy eyes. Come on, you monolith, give it back, give the stick back to the cutsie-wootsie mutt…_

"Awh," said the troll, "Detritus play with you. Doggie want play Fetch?"

At the last word, Sirius let out a pained yelp. The troll didn't notice, but patted his head with a heavy slab of a hand, twice, nearly knocking him unconscious. Then it straightened up, and raising the little wooden twig of a wand…

– _NO!! –_

…hurled it, with massive strength, in a twirling arc over the city rooftops. The black dog dived between his legs without hesitation and ran after it. Detritus watched the hound pelt off, a happy fault-line of a grin upon his face. Soon, it was lost from view. He could still hear it barking though.

_FUCKING CONCRETE BASTARD…!!_


	6. Feet and Paws

_A/N: Apologies for the delay. Real life kept getting in the way, then Writer's Cramp set in (milder version of the Block). And just to add icing to the cake – A2 level exams. Hooray. But, hey, it's over. Welcome to 3 months of unadulterated freedom before I head off to Uni (grades pending…)_

_Ereska brought up a good point in one review about animagii transforming with clothing. True, in the books Sirius does seem to be clothed and decent when he transforms in front of Harry & co., but Pettigrew, after his thirteen year stint as a rat is described as naked and generally pathetic. I don't know what Rowling's said on the matter, but I'll assume it's to do with temporary/long-term transformation. If you'll be changing back now and then, your clothes will go with you, however if (like Sirius here) you don't want to be found, it's probably less magical energy to transform without clothing as baggage. _

* * *

Chapter 6: Feet and Paws

The Librarian was repairing book bindings when an out-of-breath Rincewind took refuge in the library. The orangutan gave him an 'oh, it's _you'_ look when he entered the room and returned to his work. Rincewind did not take the hint and sat down anyway.

"Guess what just happened." He said, in the slightly awkward way of those unused to gossiping.

"Ook…" said the Librarian, leisurely applying glue to the edge of a page.

"Captain Carrot and the other one's run off after the crazy wizard! Ponder's distraught. Worse, the Archchancellor's _shouting_ again. I came here to escape the hubbub."

"Ook ook." Was the indifferent reply.

"I know, I know. But it wasn't really his fault…"

"Ook ook OOK ook," the newly-mended hardback was waved threateningly at Rincewind's face.

"Yes! Of-course, that-was-clearly-out-of-order. Who-can-blame-you-for-reacting-like-you-did?" he said quickly.

"Ook." The book was eased back onto its shelf.

"I suppose. They still don't know how he got out the window. The gap's about the size of a postbox."

Just as he was musing on this mystery, there came a small, pattering sound of feet, telling him of a new arrival in the room.

"Ook ook!"

"Don't worry, it stays away from books!" said Rincewind, apathetically kicking the side of the ambulating wooden trunk, "Been acting a bit frisky recently though. Since the crazy wizard came, actually. Dunno who told it about him."

The little army of feet did an about turn, clumsily. The many pairs of legs seemed to be at odds on which direction to go. Rincewind tried to nudge the Luggage out the door with a foot, but it snapped its lid at back at him in creaky irritation.

"Don't know what's under your varnish." He muttered.

Then, like the sharp silence of a gunshot, the millepedal feet suddenly bounced up, alert, onto their toes. The hinges squeaked sharply, once, before the trunk, legs and all, pelted off back through the door, a soft thunder of bare feet over tiles echoing down the hallway.

"Ook ook," was the Librarian's only comment.

"No, I'm NOT going after it. It always comes back. Bit like a dog, except I don't have to do the 'what is it, boy?' every time it tries to rescue small children out of wells because it doesn't do that. And it doesn't bark." He added as an afterthought.

"Ook?"

"I dunno. Probably smelt dinner. Or laundry."

* * *

The doggy way of thinking is very different to how most humans would believe. While an Ordinary Human, when confronted with a pointed finger, would look into the pointed direction, a dog on the other hand would look directly (or in some cases, bite) at the aforementioned finger. These critical disparities means that, when a human mind is placed in a dog form, its paths of thinking must conform to its new shape. Thus, though his thoughts and emotions were human, Sirius' (or _Padfoot's_) instincts were purely Dog. 

Currently, more uncaring than oblivious to these facts, Sirius the Dog was sniffing down one of the alleyways of the colourful city of Ankh Morpork. Mindful ever of the other strays that sometimes growled at him, he never growled back. They whined and turned tail anyway. Maybe it was the huge shaggy dangerous look. He hoped it was.

The wand was here somewhere, and he could tell. He didn't know how; after all he couldn't smell its trajectory, however keen his nose was. But something so concentrated in magic left marks on this world, and they were leading him to it. And after all, becoming an animagus was like surgically implanting magic into his very being – he should have been grateful nothing went wrong when they did it, back at Hogwarts. As it was, this essence of magic that lingered on him seemed to help. _Two magnets would draw each other_, he thought, sniffing around one brick corner.

A sudden… _gust_ of something came as he turned, impacting his fine-tuned sinuses so strongly it was akin to a brick hitting him over the nose. He recoiled, doggy-senses reeling, giving out a whine of olfactory pain. His sense of smell was knocked-out flat; well, more like, it had smelled what was coming and had collapsed, play-dead, white-flagged and whimpering in fear. He peered down the narrow alley. The sense of sight was harder to rely upon, doggy eyes being much closer to the ground, producing only a hazy, badly coloured view of the world,.

He could hear it coming though.

"Ere', pass me the boot, I need something to go with this."

"You've already had a bite!"

"I'm still hungry!"

"Ggg-haaargghk."

"I tol' them. I tol' them…"

"Gentlemen, a civilised group like ourselves should learn how to share."

"Yeah… s'pose."

"Buggrem."

He backed away slowly. His crude sight could make out a bunch of what looked like beggars, but it was the smell that made him want to run. It was physically tearing up the back of his throat and dancing a violent polka somewhere behind his left nostril. He felt his eyes welling up reflexively. Just as he was about to run, however, something caught his eye.

Amongst the haggle of unkempt men, there was a little dog with them. It was staring at him, but the way he was staring was so distinctly un-canine that he had to stare back. Then the grey terrier looked away, awkwardly, and Sirius' curiosity was sparked. Dogs did not understand the concept of awkwardness. Humility yes, in front of superior dogs, and Sirius was unquestionably superior, but this dog was uncomfortable, embarrassed. Human emotions.

"Woof" it said quickly, as if trying to repair its previous faux-pas. Sirius mentally raised an eyebrow.

_You didn't _bark_ 'woof', you _spoke_ it. And what dog says woof anyway?_

Almost as if he had heard this train of thought, the terrier looked up sheepishly, his short front legs bent in a sign of unmistakeable deference. Against the protestations of his dying nose, Sirius padded closer.

_How can you understand me? Are you a wizard?_

"It's a dog fing," the terrier spoke up for the first time, "I'm a dog and so are you. By the looks of it, anyway."

The duck man looked down.

"Gaspode, who are you talking to?"

_He can hear you! You _can_ speak!_

"He's one o'the few who listen." The terrier looked up into the taller dog's eyes, and seemed to gain courage, "What 'bout you?" he asked, suspicious, "I know humans an' I know dogs, but _you_ are neevah. E'you in-between, like me?"

_I can't talk like you. I didn't think other animals could hear my thoughts like this._

"I can't… it's sorta like, you show it in your body, and I'm reading that. Body language gets a lot more expressive wiv' four legs."

The man with a duck on his head bent down and scratched Sirius behind the ears. Sirius shook him away, the adult wizard inside repulsed and embarrassed. In a doggy way, the contact had actually felt _nice_, giving him a guilty twinge.

Gaspode shook his head.

"Yer not like me. Yer both and neither. It's magic, right? Must be. I'm a dog who thinks human and you're…" but the larger dog had become skittish.

Gaspode read his movements: the ears twitching, the lip sharpening, the front paws tensing. It said -

_I have to go._

"Running away from summat, eh?" the terrier called out, but the bigger black dog had already turned and vanished.

No more than a minute after speaking this, Gaspode felt another shadow over his neck. He craned his muzzle upwards to see Captain Carrot, stooping on his haunches in front of him. Corporal Nobby Nobbs was some way behind, questioning other passers-by.

"Hello Gaspode," said Carrot, in his custom sunny tone. He looked round at the rest of the Canting Crew. "Afternoon Gentlemen," he added, touching his helmet

"What d'ya want," reminded Gaspode.

"Has anybody peculiar come this way?"

"D'ya mean peculiar in the way of suspicious men with long oiled moustaches and heavy raincoats… or peculiar more in the way of a black shaggy dog bout three (or four) feet tall talkin' Human without openin' 'is mouth?"

Carrot stared for a moment.

"You're sure it was a dog?"

"Yep, male, seemed a bit nervous, between you 'n' me. Scarpered coupla' minutes before you came."

"I see. Thank you, Gaspode, gentlemen. We shall be off now."

"But what about—"

"Afternoon to you all. I'll have a Watch officer bring a string of sausages next time they come on shift."

"Much appreciated, sure, but why you looking for a dog?"

Carrot looked down at the terrier.

"We're not looking for a dog, Gaspode."

* * *

"Curtains? Windows? Have you any idea what else might come through?!" Ridcully hollered. Many of the faculty wizards winced in unison. Their afternoon-tea-cum-second-lunch hour had been interrupted by this, and they were not happy bunnies. 

Ponder shifted nervously.

"It's not that bad! The universe naturally has… holes. The possibility of something coming through is tiny!"

"But someone did come through! The wand-waving maniac who calls himself a wizard! If you have a hole in the fabric of reality you don't stick your finger in and wiggle it around to make it bigger…"

He paused.

"Can you hear that?"

Everyone listened silently as the hectic drumming sound that had previously been background noise became louder. Then, with a sudden bang, the doors of the hall was thrown open to reveal the Luggage, running with enough speed to make sand cry. It blazed through the main hall and out the open doors at the other end, leaving in its wake a trail of confused wizards and the mandatory dust cloud.

Ridcully looked round at the his colleagues. Most were finding their hats that were blown away. The Senior Wrangler was trying to conceal a slice of pie in his mouth. He blinked and continued.

"As wizards of this city, we have a duty. A duty to protect our city against… against… this kind of thing. We've overlooked this guy, he seems harmless enough, but what next, eh? What else is gonna drop in? Where's it gonna lead?"

"So... what now?" asked the Dean.

Ridcully straightened his robes with the poise of authority.

"Get the bloody machine." He commanded, "We have work to do."

* * *

Nobby caught up with Carrot down the street of Cunning Artificers. 

"Didja find out anything?"

"Maybe. I can't tell yet." Carrot replied.

They walked down the road in silence, absorbed in their own thoughts. Then Nobby spoke.

"Captain, why did Vimes call it a murder?"

Carrot looked thoughtful for a minute, then answered, "Because it couldn't have been an accident." He ruffled inside the breastplate of his armour and brought out a paper bag filled with … rope. Nobby made a sceptical face, but Carrot explained.

"It's from the actual cart. It was Cheery who noticed it in the first place." He took out the length and found the unwaxed end, where the straw strands had begun to fray. Nobby looked at it.

"So…?"

"This rope tied the cart to a nearby metal post. See all those strands? A rope is braided from several braids, and these are braided as well. It would take a great deal of wear to weaken and then snap all six strands. But here, someone cut them – sawed them through. That's why the frayed ends are all the same length."

"But why didn't that someone just untie the cart?"

"It was a complex knot, what you might call a Genuan knot [1– it would have looked suspicious for it to unravel by itself. No, Nobby, someone came along and cut it."

"Must have been good timing – just as that barbarian cross the road – right at that moment – wallop?"

"And that's why we have to ask Mr. Black exactly what happened. First we have to find him."

"How're we gonna do that?"

"I think," Carrot turned to look at his companion, "We should find Sergeant Angua."

[1_ The Genuan knot: When General Tacticus left his Ephebe campaigns, and came to the realm of Genua with its incomprehensible dialect, the locals challenged him to untie their famously complicated and impossible knot while blindfolded, using only a single arrow and a butter churn. General Tacticus agreed, but asked politely on the condition that the rope-wright who made the knot could preside over the task, and during the performance, shot him with the arrow. The point was made (insert laughter here), and the knot later served as substitute for a football in army matches._

* * *

Now slowly gripped by fatigue, Sirius padded down another alley, seemingly identical to every other he had passed. He had avoided the other dogs, he outran the Watchmen, but he was beginning to feel it now: the hunger, the exhaustion of too much strain, too much tension. Too long in this bloody city. The weirdest thing of all had to be the man in the library, or was it in the spaceship? He closed his eyes, several times, as if trying to blank out the intrusive memories. The worst thing, was, of course, that they had, all of them, actually happened. 

He shouldn't have turned down the Wizard's free meal. The empty stomach was complaining more and more loudly. He had been running on adrenaline too long – he had been _running_ too long. Now he had to listen to his aching body.

And now, as he entered, ah, what looked like the street he had appeared in on his first night… yes, he could make out through drowsy eyes the violent pub at one side, and now

Ah… oh – oh! That smell! He could smell, of all glorious things, he was smelling… sausages. The delicious, tantalising scent of fried sausages and the sharp saucy aroma of onions. His body responded immediately. Blind and hungry, he followed the scent, feeling his dry mouth suddenly flooded by hyperactive saliva glands.

He was vaguely aware that was a sausage dispenser in the form of a man… the smell wafted from around five feet above the ground. Now was a good time to employ the doggy charm.

"Sausages inna bun – 'ere whose dog is this? Get off!" With a kick of the leg, Sirius was shaken off. The rebuff hurt, but hunger made him desperate.

"Go away, stupid dog! There's people willing to pay f'these!" Dibbler, who wasted not but simply wanted, wiped the doggy slobber off the offended sausage and put it back on the tray.

Sirius whined pathetically. It was the canine stomach talking now. He was thirsty, and he was hungry, and if he didn't get a sausage soon, CMOT Dibbler was going to have a very damp trouser leg.

"Oh, fine, here, have the green one, but don't come running to me afterwards. This is your last free meal, only cos I like you, mind."

Vision hazy, Sirius felt a small chunk of sausage meat fed into his mouth, then a hand scratching his chin. Gratified, and not a little patronised, he started to chew.

The regret that followed could not be described in words.

The adult male wizard instantly balked, desperately trying to regurgitate the – for want of a better word – foodstuff, and had he been in an adult male wizards body, this would have been the case. As the present situation was, hungry undiscerning canine instincts forced him to keep chewing. All his short life, he never thought he'd ever regret being an animagus.

Defeated, he limped away, trying to swallow and choke at the same time.

_I hate this city. I hate this city._ The mantra circled his head as his eyes watered streams.


	7. Grim Adventures of Snuffles and Angua

A/N: Reasons for hiatus (a.k.a. Author's lame real-life excuses) included A-level exams, a summer holiday and pivoting life-moment, fresher's week, hectic first term, hectic second term, far too many essays than compatible with basic human happiness, and very little spare time, during which fanfiction has lessened as an inclination. And since that last sentence was written: hectic third term, prelim exams, a blissful summer and now Second Year. I'll keep writing when I can, but updates will be few and far between. Enjoy the (what is becoming) literary sadism.

Note: in the space between this chapter and the previous, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ was published, released, read and then forgotten.

* * *

Chapter 7: The Grim Adventures of Snuffles and Angua

What's this? Sirius woke, one long-lashed eye peeling itself open. His face was pressed against dirt ground. His body was cushioned against something soft. Then, gradually, sensation came over him, as he did a tentative stretch along his spine, and felt the reactive twitch that informed him of the shape of his body. Yes, still furry. And also sleeping in a pile of garbage. Curious. He opened both eyes, and remembered how tired he was.

_Oh, feck, my wand…_

It mattered little now. The hungry exhausted Human adult wizard inside was delegating bodily operations. And thus:

Snuffles got up. Snuffles was in charge. Snuffles scratched his ear with a paw. Then Snuffles raised one hind leg against the wall and performed the simple, most recognisably doggy of deeds. That particular bodily function out of the way, now it was time to satisfy other priorities for the Wizard upstairs. Snuffles was no longer hungry, and the gratuitous saliva produced by that puking pastille of a sausage had cured a little his dry thirst. Now he had some free rein to indulge his curiosity. Oh, and the wand, of course. We'll find that somewhere on the way. The audience will observe, now, how he continues, like a true dog, to follow his nose.

Trotting at a happy pace down the street he had woken up in, Snuffles realised he had been sleeping in a back alleyway – the noisy furore up ahead told him that was a high street, and he could smell the distinctly unwashed fragrance of People. It was pervasive. He observed the myriad movements of peoples legs walking here-there-everywhere, shoes of various colours and conditions swinging on the ends of those two pin-like legs, and felt a little smugness at his double, ah no, quadrupedal advantage in that department. The scent of magic led him on, gravitating him closer to where his wand lay, like a ticklish sense in his nose. It led his feet onwards.

Here another alleyway, to the eye, indistinct to every other alleyway that he had passed. His ear detected no sound and Snuffles was about to pass by without regard, but then he sniffed. Ah! There was something here, he could smell it, and it was this curious flavour that lured him in, despite the twitterings of misgivings, he was drawn in by the aroma of...

Not magic, no. Not even food. The stimulated glands here were very different: for one, they were situated in very different areas of his anatomy. He padded carefully through the shadowed alley, hearing in the corners soft, rhythmic steps that indicated another four-footed presence. A clatter of bins. His ears perked. Other areas also stood to attention.

_Hell-o lassie…_

Oh my. Oh me oh my. Oh me oh my oh my. His hair was standing on end out of some primal instinct, and he felt his muscles tense suddenly from the sheer forces of machismo. For standing in front of him was the most magnificent sight that he had rarely, no, never seen.

She stepped forward, out from the shadow, and the sunlight burst in a golden blaze off her coat, momentarily stunning him. And lord, he could smell her.

It did not occur to him, the strangeness of this situation – he was a human after all – but the very canine elements of his mind were now fully dominant. Not just this, but the certain parts of his anatomy, which he thought had lain dormant these past years in the face of greater issues, had suddenly woken up and become a lot more… lively. Still, even in this state, he could tell a few things.

The creature he was seeing – smelling- before him was no dog, but a full Wolf. A magnificent animal, one that no smart dog (or human) would want to offend. And had he been rational, and thought it through, and seen the watch badge that hung from her collar, he would have backed out of the alley immediately. But as it was, other, baser needs had him in grip.

_Hubba hubba_

He pounced.

Angua braced, and sprang to meet him. Fur flew. For young readers at home, let us give a PG-13 warning at least, simply for the charged tension in this encounter. Amidst the tussle of her limbs, the black hound managed to pin the gold coated flank of her with the weight of his forelegs and front, but she dove, biting hard his neck without drawing blood. He reeled and recoiled. She growled, pounding him back into the wall. He withdrew again, taking a moment to shake off the impact, but then leapt again. Again, she battered him off easily, staring him down as he got back onto his feet. Her coat glistened; her eyes glowed.

_Leave it, wannabe-Alpha! You're following me back to Pseudopolis Yard._

Sirius blinked, and noticed finally the tag on the dog collar, the brass embossed symbol of the City Watch. The Wizard hurried resumed executive control of the vehicle, and processed the situation before him. Wolf. _Female_ Wolf. _Gorgeous_ female Wolf. Gorgeous female wolf who was a member of the _Watch_? The Watch employed animals? Something wasn't right. This wolf could speak, but it was in a very different manner to the little terrier on the street. Her mode of communication was… it struck him, rather similar to his own. And thus he was: a human, an animagus, who'd just performed, to put it gracefully, attempted assault on a she-Wolf who was, no less, a Watch member. There were only a few conclusions one could come to in this light.

She was looking at him. He could picture the mentally raised eyebrow. Whatever she was, it was more than just a simple, lowercase 'w' wolf.

_I am deep in shit._

She was coming towards him. She spoke, wordlessly. But he could hear that her voice was low and melodic.

_So deep in shit, my friend. _

Very carefully, Sirius bent his legs, as if kneeling in submission. The high street was up ahead, and he could sense that the presence of the wand was near. As she came closer, he bent his head forward. She, sensing his submission, paced close. And then, before she was close enough to subdue him, he pounced – high – leaping over her, over her head in a languorous vault. And as soon as his feet hit earth, scraping the dirt from the ground, he began to run.

He heard the howling bark behind him, and promptly accelerated.

* * *

A growl echoed through the back alleys, then punctured with a few howls.

"Captain! Hear that?!" yelled Nobby.

"It's Angua. That's the signal." Carrot replied, "She's found him. Remember, we don't know what he looks like right now. Her nose is the best bet we've got."

They ran in the direction of the barks.

* * *

Some distance down the street, Gaspode was watchin the day pass by with increasing bemusement.

"Ooh, and now Cap'n Carrot 'n' Corp'ral Nobby 've run orf after the talking dog, following the 'owling, fink Angua must've bin chasin' 'im as well…" he looked up, but the other beggars were crowded over a newly discovered bin. He continued airily to himself, "Yeah, the high street is the place to be if ya wanna see interestin' fings 'appening."

Four seconds passed after these words were spoken in which there was no untoward incidence (during which foul ol' Ron chanced opportunely upon a –vaguely- fresh slice of lemon). Then, immediately after this, there was a boom. And, amidst the ordinary hubbub of the people and the market stalls, there came a small travelling sandstorm. The crowd of people parted to reveal a heavy wooden trunk sprinting down the road, propelled by a caterpillar of legs underneath its body. It speeded past in a frantic barefoot gallop along the high street, in the same direction of the Watchmen, towards the sound of barks, leaving behind a cloud of dust in its wake and some rather confused pedestrians. Gaspode's matted fur went whoosh for a second and then all was still again.

He chewed air for a moment, staring ahead. Then he said, "I think I need a better view of all this."

* * *

_Why am I always running nowadays?_

Sirius was, once again, running away. On four legs, which was faster and a lot more efficient than two, but he was also being chased by something equally equipped as he, and she was not backing down, no sirree. He thought back to the previous encounter with his huntress – she was a wolf, and yet she wasn't, in the same way he wasn't. You assumed all characteristics of an animal as an animagus, and yet, the way she wore that form was so different to his existence as a hound. She fitted, she flowed perfectly. Like she was born with half of it in her nature…

_God, if only Remus could have met her…_

The scent of the wand was getting stronger, and strangely, seemed to be coming from _above_ him. Skidding around the corner of the nearest building, he could feel the scent grow stronger. Where the hell was he?

He looked up. There was a crude handpainted sign swinging above his head: 'Haarga's House of Ribs'. If it hadn't been the aroma of the magic clogging his sinuses, he would have been salivating over other things.

The rhythm of his heart did not slow down, though he had stopped. He could sense the quiet drumming of feet and paws chasing him – some distance behind, but growing louder, soon they would catch up.

Around the back of the building there was something leaning against the wall that looked like a ladder – wooden and looking somewhat rickety, in any case, it led to the roof. Bracing his nerves and nimble paws, Sirius leapt and bounded up its length, before gravity encumbered him, and he fell, landing and skidding onto all fours. Ladders were not designed for four legs.

Fretful now, he had no choice but to return to the form that would give him opposable thumbs. And climbing quickly, praying that he wouldn't be seen, he ascended as a naked barefoot man, rung by rung, and hoisted himself onto the roof of Haarga's proud establishment.

The rooftop was flat, with a little ridge around the borders about knee height that he crouched low behind. The drastically diminished sense of smell as a human made him feel very vulnerable, and he had not planned to turn back at so quickly a time – there was a slight feeling of disorientation, along with the adrenaline. But he could still sense the wand – it had landed here, he was sure. He peeped over the ledge: the street below was busy with milling, oblivious people, but he spied the running figures of watchmen coming closer, led by the gleaming shape of her – oh, my, what a magnificent animal, even in human form he still felt a lingering appreciation – and then the careful, hunking form of Carrot, easing his way through the crowd. They came to the shop front, and the golden wolf sniffed the perimeter of the building where Sirius had stopped. He remembered nervously that he hadn't moved the ladder, and hoped she did not have the agility to climb it.

Sirius looked around. The next rooftop was maybe four or five feet away in a leap. He assumed four-legged form again, and began to sniff and probe. The wand was close, amongst the boxes and barrels and stores that had been left out here. In his peripheral hearing, he could tell that the Watchmen had now entered the building, and he could still smell the distant presence of the Wolf, circling him persistently, and then he heard the tap of her paws upon a wooden rung…

He stiffened. The tap turned to a scraping sound, and a thump upon the ground. She fell, and he felt her move further away. He relaxed, again.

His luck turned finally: in a pile of old, rotten rope. It was sticking out of the coils, the long trajectory cushioned by the fibre, and in his current state, it glowed with the scented aura of Magic.

_Eureka._

His wand. Relief poured over in a happy wave, and with hearty joy he clamped down firmly on the wooden wand with his teeth. And now, to prepare to run again. But at least, with this, he had some useful power. He wanted to laugh.

Just as he was about to turn and jump, however, there was a muffled bang from beneath him. He froze, and the bang came again, before a previously unnoticed trapdoor leading from the shop below burst open, revealing the grave face of Captain Carrot, emerging onto the roof. He was carrying a leash and a muzzle.

Before Sirius could react or move, another smaller golden form rose from the trapdoor, and had slinked to the other side of him. She was baring her teeth, not aggressively, but he got the meaning of the warning quite well.

_Right. Where to now then?_

And he read the answer in the Wolf's jaw.

_You're coming with us, Mr. Wizard. We'd appreciate it if you stayed in one shape._

Oh-ho no. No. Not that easily. Sirius felt a welling sense of smugness within him. They thought they'd cornered him. Little mediaeval policemen in armour with their trained wolf, thinking they could pin him down when the entire Wizarding World had been baffled for years and even the Dementors of Azkaban had failed! All they had were crude weapons. He could stun them all and be gone in the space of four seconds, if it came to it. He had a wand. He needed to be human to use it, however, but that could be easily remedied…

Carrot and Nobby, now positioned around the dog, nearly tripped a step backward to see their quarry did next. The black hound gave a rippling shudder, and suddenly seemed to _expand_, the black fur spilling off its dark form as it grew, lengthening in a sickly, blurred motion. Front paws rose off the ground; the spine arched and straightened vertically; the face, hands, sculpting, shifting. Nobby's mouth was open and he gasped when the process was complete; he had forgotten to breathe. Even Carrot was stunned motionless. And as Sirius, nearing completion to _homo sapiens_, prepared to wave his wand, mouthing the charm that would ensure his escape, he suddenly realised it wouldn't work, because he was still holding his wand in his mouth.

In this momentary blip, Angua, least confounded of the three, seized her opportunity and lunged, pounding down on his bare human torso with all of her weight. She knocked the wind out of him, and the wand went flying, high above them in a graceful curved arc, and he could see, in the subsequent gelatinised slowdown of time, that it was going to fall off the edge of the building, into the street below.

In a liquid instant, he had forced his body back into dog form, and in a writhing motion, cast off the snarling wolf. In deep gasps, he scrambled onto his feet and sprinted for the edge of the roof, preparing his hind legs to dive for it, and leave the heights of the building. The sun lit its varnished length as it span. He bared his muzzle and teeth, ready to snatch it in his dive.

And then in the stagnant matrix-frozen jelly-mix of slow-motion, Carrot said:

"Can anyone hear that...? The sound of… feet."

And in the backwater of his senses, Sirius felt the thunder of feet coming closer, over the rooftops, something impossibly faster than he was, but he was so close - his neck muscled tensed, as he prepared to catch the wand.

And then with the force of a fourteen stone bludger, he was hammered aside, back towards the floor of the roof, his ribs crunching in the impact as over the edge of the rooftop ascended… a wooden trunk.

Sirius hit the ground hard, rolling, knocked instinctively again to human form. His eyes widened as he saw, above him, the wand sailing leisurely towards the flying chest and bounce gently off its lid and spin in mid-air. And then in the muddy paralysis of slow-motion, he watched the box as it reached the peak of its suspended parabolic arc, watched it yawn slowly, and the heavy lid open and enclose around his fragile wand like a chomp of a mouth, and then snap tightly shut.

_Blunk._

Time rushed back in an accelerated flood. In an eye's blink, the box fell, leaving the edge of the roof and diving out of view. Clambering to the edge, Sirius watched in stunned amazement, bewilderment, as the Luggage landed on its feet in a dustpool upon the street below, and scamper off in the direction of the main road, leaving only dust, and one rather confused coughing grey terrier, in its wake.

Numbed, naked and bruised, he turned around, devoid of anything to say. The two Watchmen and Watch-she-wolf were still staring at him, not with a little pity in their eyes. All of a sudden his limbs felt weak, and he could only look on blankly, impotently, as cuffs were hooked onto his wrists by the maliceless face of Carrot, and a leather lead and collar, very gently, placed about his neck.

"Will you come with us, Mr. Black?" asked Carrot, still with the full tones of courtesy.

Sirius nodded, and got up.


End file.
